


Live a Little

by FELover



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5634034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FELover/pseuds/FELover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Robin is not among us, doctor," the girl said. Mentally, Libra was taking notes such as 'Refers to self in third person: Dissociation technique.'</p><p>The story of a gynophobe, a dragon-girl, a thief, and two weirdos meeting in a mental institute, how the first two fall in love and the rest learn a thing or two about themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“The two most important days in your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.” ― Mark Twain

* * *

One thing to be got from Grima, as Libra understood it from reading the patient's file, was that life and everything concerning it, be it paying bills, doing grocery shopping, picking what shoes to wear for the day or what brand of toothpaste to buy, or choosing whether to say hi in the street to a stranger - those things, Grima was beyond. 

Which might be the reason the new girl in Valm's very own and renown La Sainte Mila Psychiatric Ward had chosen the beast. 

"Robin is not among us, doctor," the girl said. She, sweet-faced and all, still chose to regard him with the coldest gaze and an upturned nose. Mentally, Libra was taking notes such as 'Refers to self in third person: Dissociation technique.'

"Oh yes," Libra played right along and kept his tone polite and apologetic. "I may have a few too many things on my schedule today, I must have forgot. This is Grima I'm speaking to, correct?"

Robin sniffed with distaste. "You still address me too familiarly, human. Do not be so familiar!"

Libra lifted his hands in surrender. "Forgive me. We are still strangers, are we not? I am-"

"Doctor Libra Échelle, of course," Robin said with a haughty tone. "This I already know."

Libra sent a questioning gaze at the nurse still waiting at the doorstep of his office. She, a quirky blond perhaps too young-looking and sprightly to fit the bill of her position, in a mental institution no less, shrugged her shoulders at his inquisitive look. Had some other nurse spoken of him, mentioned his name in passing before Robin met him? No idea. But that would be one explanation. 

"That is very interesting," Libra said in a charming tone, as beguiling as attractions to tourists or rubber toys to babies. "You are a very interesting character, Grima... um, sir? Madam? Or would you prefer 'lord'?

Robin frowned at this, though not exactly with displeasure. Her smile, all sharpness at the edges, spoke of triumphant arrogance. Suddenly, seated at Libra's desk, it might have looked as if she were sitting on a throne. "What nonsense! Your silly tags have no place on me; Grima! I am neither female nor male; do not let this vessel's mortal form deceive you! I am a beast! I hail from the darkest pits of your forgotten history-!"

"Fascinating, indeed!" Libra clapped both hands together before him. "And I would be more than interested in hearing more. However, have I mentioned my busy schedule today? The first thing to do now only concerns your vessel-"

"Master is an appropriate title, by the bye," Robin interrupted. 

"Yes, of course," Libra replied, not missing a beat. "May I perhaps have a word with Robin, though? You see," he lifted an assortment of sheets from his desk. "I have all this paperwork that needs filling. And I'm afraid only Robin can help me do the task. It might be nice for her to come out, don't you think, if only for a bit?"

Robin's eyes were closed, as if she were giving this some serious thought. 

"Bah!" she finally said. " _Paperwork_! What silly things you humans burden yourselves with!"

Another mental note: Avoiding paperwork. May speak of an aversion to the process involved. Look for schizoaffective disorder symptoms. 

"It is necessary," Libra commented with a sweet tone. "Maybe not for you, but it certainly is important that i go over these with Robin."

"Robin is gone!" Robin shouted. At the door, the nurse startled, but she was able to remain more or less calm with a pacifying smile from Libra. "Robin is _so_ gone! You have not the smallest clue how gone she is!"

"Ah, perhaps she is tired?" Libra interjected, ever the beacon of soothing answers. "I am told you have been transferred all the way from the capital of Yllise. That is a tiring trip, all the way from Yllistol to Rosanne. I made the trip once when I moved."

"Flight was a nightmare," Robin slipped. 

Libra's smile became a tad bigger and more honest. "Oh yes, I've never been a big fan of flying myself. Were the attendants nice, at the very least?"

Robin pff-ed. "They were... tolerable, I suppose. Neither Robin nor I were ever too fond of the plastic smiles. One of the few things we ever agree on; humanity's phoniness is repulsive. Another thing to add on to that heap of reasons the race should be eradicated. Before climate change gets worse, I'd prefer."

"You are an environmentalist?"

"Har-hardly!" Robin shouted again. "What happens to this world is none of my concerns! It is... simply inconvenient. Leaving an air-polluted world behind before I leave it for good? That is akin to leaving a messy house behind after selling it. No... that's just..."

"I get it," Libra pacified her.

"I do not wish an ill reputation on me!" Robin insisted.

"Nobody does."

"I am a dragon in the high regards of many!"

"Don't worry, I get what you mean. So, you say you will be leaving this world? Perhaps you'd like to do some interstellar travel? I'm sorry if I repeat myself, but you truly are interesting. Master Grima, right?"

Robin nodded cautiously. "Don't be naive, however. When I speak of leaving, it is not for leisure that I mean it."

"Work to do elsewhere?"

Robin nearly flinched at the word 'work'. "Ah well... do not trouble your mortal mind with that. My plans, that is the plans of a higher being with universal wisdom, are far too much for a human. You save yourself a headache by ditching the questionnaire."

Libra simply looked at her, still looking as if her every word was engrossing, as if what she said had a hold on him as no industrial glue or arm-wrestler could hope to have. 

"Yes..." Robin faltered. "A huge headache. You wish to know Robin, to meet her?" she shook her head. "Your hopes are in high probability of remaining unfulfilled."

Crestfallen, Libra asked, "Oh well, then perhaps my best bet at this moment is to meet with her family? They should know lots of things about her. It sounds like a good place to start."

Robin nearly leaped from her chair. She slammed her open palms on Libra's desk, causing a glass of water to teeter a fraction of an inch closer to the edge. "Her _family_?! Yes, I suppose you could call that man _that_! If what you humans consider as family meets such loathsome criteria! Fair warning though; the man is a pathological liar! A deceptive snake he is, with a forked tongue and horns!"

"Robin's father?"

"Yes, that vermin!"

Libra hummed shortly; the nurse at the doorstep recognized it as an analytical habit of his. "I must meet with Mr. Nawfal - I'm sorry, Plegian names aren't my forte; am I pronouncing that right?"

Robin gave a curt nod and a dismissive waive of the hand. 

Libra smiled again. "I must meet with him to make my own impressions. Even if a dragon advises me otherwise."

This time, Robin's frown was honestly displeased. "I did offer fair warning. Oh well; another doctor will be misled. What a pity. Like I care." 

Silence reigned in the office for a few seconds, only the sound of feet shuffling outside served as background noise. 

"Whatever that old man says in regards to Robin is none of my business."

Libra nodded. 

"He and his lies are nothing in the grand scheme of things."

The nurse at the doorstep was examining her nails. 

"Puts us in these places, like we're mental or some shit."

At this point Robin was more mumbling to herself than actually talking to Libra. 

"Shows what _he_ knows."

Libra put the papers out of sight. 

"Ha! Crazy old man. Head full of secrets."

"Miss Nawfall?" Libra tried. 

"Wrinkly raisin for a heart..."

"Robin?"

She lifted her head, eyes suddenly bright with wonder. 

Libra extended his hand over the clutter of his desk, over the glass off water his new patient's outburst had nearly caused to fall, over papers and pens and a few rubber bands confiscated from another patient of his. 

"Hello," Libra introduced himself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Robin. I am Dr. Échelle, but I'd be happy if you call me by my first name. It's Libra."

Robin unconsciously shook his hand, slightly dumbfounded. "I'm Robin..."

"I know," Libra said. 

"Right..."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here you go Scarlett Hex, cause you asked for it. 
> 
> Flashback-y chapter. I know. Already? Yeah. Already. It is what it is for a reason though. Forgive any typos I might have missed, won't you? I've read this over like seven times already and I don't think my eyes can take any more. Man, proofreading is hard work. I need to let my regular proofreader how much I appreciate what she does.

In the springtime of his years, Libra Échelle was an Yllistol University psychology graduate looking for a dissertation topic. Libra, who many classmates and acquaintances would begin describing by the deep and inquisitive nature of his eyes, was intrigued by human motivation, but suspected it misunderstood in the scholarly and corporate world.

In his dissertation topic, he decided, he would endeavor to prove the imparted system of extrinsic reward-giving as detrimental.

With the help of a puzzle consisting of a dozen puzzle pieces - cubes -, he set up a study with male and female university students as his subjects. Each group participated in several hourly sessions held on consecutive days. During these sessions, the participants of this experiment were given the task of building several shapes with the cubes of the puzzle.

Libra timed the performance.

He divided the participants into two groups. For the first session, Libra treated the first and second group in the exact same way: He gave them instructions about the configurations he wanted them to build and then left them to do the task. For the second session, Libra gave the two groups new shapes to build, except, he told the participants of the first group that they would be payed 5 G (beer money at most) for every shape they managed to copy, whereas he gave no promise of extrinsic reward to the second group.

What happened halfway through completing the puzzles for each participant in both groups was that Libra halted their progress and said he’d give them one more shape to build, but first he needed to feed their progress in the experiment to a computer for record-keeping.

He told the participants they could do anything they wanted in his absence.

Libra, however, was not away doing what he said. He was, instead, keeping watch over the subjects of his experiment inside the adjacent room through a one-way window. For the next exact eight minutes, he observed their behavior.

In all honesty, his hands were trembling with nervous excitement. This experiment meant, to him, more than he’d expected it to. And a lot was dependent on the results. He would write his dissertation objectively despite outcomes, however he knew himself to hold certain hopes, and if the results were not to his satisfaction, those hopes would be irreparably crushed, as well as his own motivation to perform in the field of psychiatry.

During the first session, amid the that eight-minute interruption to their proceedings, both groups behaved similarly. Both played with the puzzle on an average of three to four minutes; perhaps they found the task somewhat entertaining. On the day of the second session, however, participants of the first group - who were paid in cash as reward for a successful completion of the copies of shapes requested of them, whereas members of the second group were not - suddenly decided they were truly, _deeply_ interested in solving the puzzles.

Libra watched their proceedings, which lasted in some cases well over five minutes, with what some nearby witness might have described as a detached and utterly scientifically endeavored gaze. Inside however, his heart dwindled sadly. He was not upset though. It only made sense that, upon the promise of monetary reward, the first group would work harder to solve the puzzles. He had expected this outcome as well, but it was no less dispiriting for him to watch.

The second group’s proceedings during the eight-minute intermission of the second day did not deviate from the first day. And although their goings about puzzle-solving were invariant, and it was by no means an exciting thing to watch, Libra felt like smiling. There was no overly abundant joy bursting from his heart, no overwhelming pride, but interestingly enough, he felt satisfied.

Without much thinking it, he had already begun to write lines of his dissertation inside his head.

Between the second and third and final day of observation, after the participants of both groups went their ways (the first group a little more endowed, and the second group none the wiser about this), Libra was left feeling both anxious and torn inside.

This was bad, he realized. He had become so interested in this little experiment of his, so hopeful in such a short period of time about the results, that now, if things did not turn out the way he wished them, he would probably not recuperate from the disillusion.

And yet, was this truly a bad thing? Or was it simply that good? That night, as he sat before the small coffee table in his fiancee’s apartment - a modest and cozy little thing, like a warm cave in a forest from which the light of a fire might glimmer -, his eyes transfixed with wonder, and perhaps a bit of horror too, on the data presented by sheets of paper before him, Libra found himself asking a question aloud, although he had not intended to.

“Even if I get the results I want, how will the world react to them?”

His fiancee, a woman of motherly essentiality at heart, the sweetness of which was perceived in the dulcet tones of her voice, smiled absently whilst she knitted him a cap for the coming winter in the capital. This was, for two years now, an unbroken tradition she planned on keeping for the years to come at Libra’s side.

“You mean if it reacts at all?”

Libra was not without knowledge of what his investigation would propose, in the event of his desired results presenting themselves. The idea that the system by which the great majority of world abided to reward the working citizens of a society was wrong to follow because it deprived humans of a certain form of basic intrinsic motivation, was controversial to say the least. He knew of a well-established scientist before him, a certain Lucius Ruthea, whose research on behavioral phenomena while a professor of the same university he attended now, many years past, might have changed the way many viewed the way of rewarding hard work.

Professor Ruthea abandoned his research, leaving only a dim glimmer of insight into the human condition of drive to do things. Now and then, Libra could catch a glimpse of this brilliant idea in other research papers he used for reference on several assignments, but only as a passing thought; nothing too groundbreaking or serious.

Cherche was right to ask as she did; would anyone be interested in what he had to say about human motivation? Would anyone heed advice? The chances of Libra’s proposition to reconsider social workings - regarding all as far as it went in the subject of rewarding progress - being swept under the carpet as if it were just some filthy thing were overwhelmingly true.

“Yes,” Libra acquiesced with a sigh, not defeated, but peaceful. “There is the possibility that no one will really care for what I have to say.”

Cherche smiled in that saccharine manner of hers, “But we have yet to see about that. It’s silly to worry about things that have not even happened. Still, would it really matter if others don’t like the results of your study?”

Libra gazed upon Cherche with a loving sensation welling up in him.

“I see how happy this experiment has made you in the short time it’s been going on, and I like it. If you are satisfied with your work, and in turn I’m satisfied to see you like this, is the merit of your work really going to waste despite not being taken into account by outsiders?”

“You sometimes say the loveliest things, Cherche,” Libra said as he caressed her palm with his fingertips, lightly so as to not disturb her work.

“I’m just telling you things how I see, love,” she responded. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy. Keep working on what gives you joy and-”

“All will be well,” Libra finished for her. “Very well,” he said and kissed her brow. “I suppose you are right. I am fortunate to have you.”

“So am I,” Cherche said, and as an afterthought added, “Have faith.”

The next morning, the day of the third session, Libra met with the participants belonging in the first group and told them sad news: There had been only enough money to pay them for one day of puzzle-solving.

They would proceed unpaid for the last day of observation.

The last session proceeded once more like the second had, up until the moment where Libra once again interrupted the proceedings of both groups and went away for eight exact minutes. The results, as they presented themselves, were more satisfying than Libra could have anticipated.

The first group of participants, who had been paid on the second day to complete the puzzles, now lagged in their endeavor as the promise of extrinsic reward was removed. They seemed to have lost considerable interest and enjoyment in their task and spent a considerable amount of time _less_ in solving the puzzles. In other words, their experience being monetarily rewarded for their puzzle-solving activity had acted negatively on their intrinsic motivation in that it became reduced.

Some of the participants in the first group even prefered to read some magazines which had been provided during all three sessions.

When the time came to test how the second group reacted during the eight-minute intermission, Libra was all a-flutter with confidence, but refrained from addressing anyone any more cordially than he had before. What he observed behind the one-way window, his smile as placid as ever - not too bright to be blinding but radiant enough to provoke second-hand satisfaction on anyone who might have happened to witness this once more -, was that the participants of the second group, who remained unpaid during all three sessions, spent a little more time attempting to solve the puzzles.

It seemed these participants had grown somewhat fond of the activity, or perhaps they simply found it entertaining. Or was it the challenge that motivated them? Theories ran inside Libra’s head, and already he could tell he’d be hard at work writing that same night. A couple of things were given; the participants of the second group had increased productivity, which equalled to saying that their intrinsic motivation had increased, prompting them to solve the puzzles with good-humored vigor, whereas the participants of the first group had had their interest in the task given to them reduced precisely because they no longer were offered an outward source of reward.

What happened was, the members of the first group came to associate the value of their work with the external reward of money. When the promise of this reward was removed, they ceased to see the value of their work and lost interest; they lost part of their inner intrinsic motivation to do the task. As for the second group, they seemed to gain interest in the activity given as the challenge increased. Libra had been giving both groups new puzzles each day, and each day, without the participants knowing it, the difficulty of their completion increased.

Members of the first group and second group were unaware that the final puzzles given to them were impossible to complete, and the result was that the first group gave up almost immediately, or barely tried. The second group however, kept trying to a certain point where they might have figured it was simply too difficult to do, but kept messing with the puzzle pieces for - Libra suspected with happiness - their own enjoyment.

* * *

 

“She used to be such a brilliant girl,” Mr. Nawfal was telling Libra inside his office. “She used to be top of all her classes, up until a certain point in her teens.”

Libra nodded, though he wasn’t smiling this time around. He had a gift for knowing what type of faces certain people liked best, and Mr. Nawfal, Robin’s father, didn’t seem the sort of person to go for too cordial an approach.

He looked more the hands-on, down to business type.

“And then…” Robin’s father sniffed with distaste. “Then she starts with this Grima nonsense. I don’t know where she got it from.”

“Mr. Nawfal, I am glad you are so actively seeking to help your daughter get well. It must not be an easy thing to make such a drastical change, moving to Valm from Yllise.”

Mr. Nawfal grunted curtly, though he responded, “As long as she gets the treatment she needs, I can afford some travel.”

“I am sure you can, Mr. Nawfal. I am concerned, however. I am told by Robin’s previous doctor that you have big business to attend to.”

Not too discretely, some pride slipped into Validar’s voice. “I own a contract packaging company. Nawfal Contract Packaging.”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard of it. It’s a big company, alright. Will your schedule keep you busy a lot of the time?”

“Why?”

Libra quickly dismissed his own question with a gentle gesture of his hand. “Oh, nothing too important. Nevermind me. Here in La Sainte Mila we sometimes hold group therapy in which family members may participate, but I don’t yet know if this would be a necessity in Robin’s case. I am curious though. Did Robin’s previous doctor-”

“Doctors,” Validar corrected him.

“Did they ever suggest sessions such as these?”

“No,” came the conscience reply.

Libra observed Mr. Nawfal’s right hand, which was always deeply buried in the pocket of his suit pants, either in a seated or standing position. No doubt this man always had a mobile phone on him.

Libra also couldn’t imagine the man wearing anything that wasn’t a made-to-measure tailored suit. Nevermind if Bespoke was fancier, this man was too busy for multiple fittings.

“I see,” Libra said. “Well, there is really no need for me to further discuss the idea if I haven’t even made my evaluation yet. I hope to see you again though, Mr. Nawfal.”

Quickly, Validar deemed the meeting was over and stood to leave, but not before he made a request.

“Robin is really an extraordinary girl, doctor. When her mother lived, she made her immensely proud. I am afraid my wife would be ashamed to see her daughter in the state she is at the moment. I only wish to have my daughter back.”

“We will endeavor to do all we can to help your daughter.”

“She’s almost twenty five, doctor,” Validar said with underlying urgency in his tone. “And so far she has been incapable of retaining a job for more than a couple of weeks. Her resume is embarrassing to look at. I could not give her a position in my own company without having people saying she’s only getting ahead because of her relation to me. Do you think that’s the kind of reputation I want for her, or the reputation she would want if she were aware of herself?”

Libra felt a little on the spot there.

“I could not ascertain any-”

“I just want her to be useful again, doctor,” Validar said. “I want her to do things the way she used to. I want her back to being the excellent person she always was before whatever went wrong happened.”

“I will find what ails your daughter,” Libra promised. “Have faith, Mr. Nawfal. Robin will get better.”

Validar sniffed before leaving, and this time around Libra thought he recognized the sniff as something resembling Robin - or he should say Grima - did as well.

“I don’t pay for the sentimentalism of faith-healing,” Validar said. “I pay for guaranteed results. This institute has outstanding reputation, and I expect outstanding progress.”

* * *

 

 After the puzzle-solving, Libra decided to expand the size and time of the experiment. He also included new variables, such as positive and negative feedback given to the participants about their abilities, to measure the increase or decrease of intrinsic motivation.

The results of the new experiment only cemented his suspicions: That human motivation ran in the opposite direction of what most people believed prompted it, in any form of living. Extrinsic rewards, such as cold, hard money, could actually have a negative effect, and contrary to what was believed, such a reward did not heighten the interest of people in certain activities, and it certainly did not affect productivity. This was simply an easily-created illusion; an association technique no less wily than propagandist methods in which the final promise of a salary ended up overriding inherent human tendency to seek originality.

Fundamental curiosity was being killed.

In his experiments, groups which received verbal rewards or encouragement became more productive, and the more freedom they were given in their tasks, the more they seemed to enjoy the work. This was an indicator of the additional positive value being give to their activities.

“They are doing the tasks I give them because they provide them with some sort of internal satisfaction,” Libra shared with his fiancee. “Not only that, but they also become more creative. The participants belonging in groups where they are being rewarded with something that doesn’t come from within themselves are actually falling behind now I’ve removed the extrinsic rewards. This is a solid indicator of the noxious effects of external rewards on intrinsic motivation!”

Cherche, after asking Libra to pass the cheese to sprinkle on the pasta as she cooked, asked with a subdued tone, “This intrinsic motivation you keep mentioning in your dissertation - it is a rather novel idea, is it not?”

“Well, yes,” Libra admitted. “But it has been supported time and again during my experiments. I wouldn’t keep mentioning it if it wasn’t so apparently playing a role in the goings of the participants about their tasks. It is a thing, Cherche.”

Truth be told, she quite enjoyed Libra’s enthusiasm.

“I see,” she said with a secret smile. “Well then, tell me more.”

So he told her more, and he told a lot of more people more as well. His pursuit, often misunderstood, through the next few years that he continued it in Yllise, put him at odds with several fellow psychiatrists. It got him fired from Yllistol University at the complaints of the business professors.

There was a time he also considered dropping his research, until two things motivated him to search for a fresh start.

First, a dear colleague of his, who he had spent time in his university as students with, committed suicide. And second, Cherche became pregnant. All of this only a few months after getting married.

“You know I’ll follow you anywhere, Libra.” Cherche told him. “I have decided to stay home with our baby, in any case.”

Libra, leaving a kiss on her brow, made a decision.

“I’ve received a job offering from a friend,” he said. “He wants me to help treat his sister in a psychiatric ward in Rossane.”

Cherche smiled. “I’m from Rosanne.”

* * *

 

 Libra came to an endearing image when he entered the patients’ sleeping quarters. Lissa, ever the perky nurse, was excitedly introducing Robin to the other female patients (to the ones who would pay any attention, that is). He had to intervene however, when the nurse spotted a certain redhead skulking at the edges of the women’s dormitory area. She’d had a bit of a confrontation with him in recent days.

As soon as he saw Lissa leaning to whisper in Robin’s ear, Libra cleared his throat loudly.

“Lissa, dear, how like you; I appreciate all the energy you put into attending the patients. Naga knows we need more of you to keep this place running smooth. Perhaps you might allow me to continue introducing Robin around, though?”

“Oh,” Lissa smiled her ten-kilowatt smile. “It’s not a problem, doc. I was just telling Robin to stay away from-”

Libra cleared his throat more forcefully this time, which made it sound as if he were coughing.

“Doctor, are you getting sick? That’s strange, you never are-”

“I’m quite alright Lissa.”

“Oh… OH! This reminds me! Your wife called earlier! She said something about a call from your son’s school. Little Gerome seems to have caught a cold or something.”

Libra walked up to Robin and Lissa, sparing a sidelong glance at the redhead patient who, no matter how he looked at it, was definitely up to no good. He already was giving Robin a curious gaze from his position partially hidden behind a potted plant.

“Really? Oh my… I’m sorry Robin,” the girl gave him a languid look, to which he brightened his expression. “It seems I have to make a quick call, but I’ll be back.”

“Don’t worry, doc,” Lissa punched him in the arm. “I’ll keep her company!”

“I appreciate it,” Libra replied, absently rubbing the area he’d been punched on. “Might I ask then one more thing from you?”

“Sure thing!” Lissa practically bounced on her heels.

“Take Robin to the recreational area? I’d like her to see our puzzles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The experiment described in this chapter is based on a real life experiment designed by Edward L. Deci. 
> 
> No, I didn't just steal his data. I changed some stuff and added things here and there. I thought that the puzzle-solving experiment fit well with a Fire Emblem fic, is all. The conclusions Libra has in this fic are slightly different with Deci's, not because I disagree with what Deci concluded, but because I needed it to fit the theme in this story more. 
> 
> Anyway, the theme in the story, as suggested by the Mark Twain quote of the first chapter, isn't just finding out what life has planned for the characters, but finding the motivation to follow a certain path. 
> 
> Also, don't expect regular-paced updates. I'm a writer of fickle heart. 
> 
> That's it. Ta-ta!

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a pilot thing. I wrote this in a fit several nights ago. Like, REALLY late. I have just read it after having left it in the confines of my drive to rot in solitude. I tend to do that a lot. But if anyone thinks this has potential to be an interesting story, do let me know. I'll see what I can do about it.


End file.
